-This is part one of three parts that will make up chapter seven-
*****Warnings: EXTREMELY VIOLENT AND CRUEL CHOKING SCENE, insensitivity to murder, big-time nonconsent (in every chapter), forced D/s dynamic, blood and bruises, death threats…you get the picture. If you've made it this far, you are not faint-hearted, so I'm sure you'll be fine.*****
It was a crisp, fall morning, and the late-September breeze held promises of colder, longer days ahead. Haley and Dean sat almost casually on the back porch of the cabin, Haley nibbling absentmindedly on a piece of toast and Dean flipping lazily through a newspaper with his bare feet resting on the small glass table.
To the untrained eye, they could have easily passed as a happy couple vacationing in the mountains.
Haley was naked, of course, but there were no cuffs or chains binding her, and Dean looked every bit like the adoring husband or boyfriend, glancing over the top of his paper every few moments to smile and cock his head at the blonde woman across from him.
To the trained eye, however, there was something much more sinister going on behind the pretty picture.
Haley's posture was rigid, and her free hand was clenched into a tight fist by her side. The way she was eating was mechanical, one bite every thirty to forty seconds as if on cue, and the skin under her eyes held the dark purple hue of someone who hadn't slept well in weeks.
Dean's gaze was steady, yes, but far from doting, and his eyes glinted with an unspoken, steely threat, binding Haley with invisible ropes that she could feel as tangibly as if they were physically there, holding her in place.
"Why so serious this morning, hmm?" Dean almost-cooed, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement, and Haley immediately looked up with a forced smile plastered across her face. It was a grimace more than anything, but Dean returned it with a smile of his own and a wink as he flipped to the obituaries.
"Dorian Thibodaux's life was tragically cut short on Saturday morning in a homicide that occurred just a few blocks from her home," he read aloud, pausing dramatically to take a sip of his coffee. "Her brother, Dale Thibodaux, who was working in Butte, Montana at the time of his sister's death, is not the only one who is mourning the loss of a woman who dedicated her life to her family as well as to her local charitable foundation, "Gentle Hearts," which has been a blessing to abandoned pets and to the families who have adopted them for over ten years. Dale will be holding a candlelight vigil in Dorian's honor at 7:30 PM this Sunday in front of the Gentle Heart office on Beechwood Avenue. All are welcome."
Dean chuckled to himself.
"Should we go?" he mused, watching as Haley's expression twisted in poorly-concealed horror. "Dale said that everyone is welcome! I may have killed poor Dorian, but I enjoy a good candlelight vigil as much as the next person. Hey! Maybe we could even bring home a straggly little puppy from Gentle Hearts. What do you say?"
He was bating Haley's emotions, half out of boredom and half out of a desire to push her into an outburst and then punish her for being disrespectful, but she remained silent, her mouth pursed into a tight, thin line as she stared resolutely down at her plate.
Dean was a little disappointed and a little impressed.
Truth be told, he hadn't killed Dorian Thibodaux. He'd killed a handful of others, certainly, but they had mostly been solitary out-of-towners or hermit-types. He didn't want to have to deal with heavy police investigations aimed his way when he had enough on his plate as it was.
Still, toying with Haley's mental breaking point had become a habit that he was finding increasingly-difficult not to indulge, despite the fact that it was probably counterproductive to his end goals where she was concerned.
But, seeing the color drain from her face and her eyes glass-over in fear and disbelief was just so…heady.
Sighing, he pulled his focus back to the real task at hand, deciding that she'd get a freebie for the moment, simply because of the time-sensitive plans he had for the two of them as soon as breakfast was finished. He needed her malleable, or it was going to be a long day.
"Oh, for God's sake," he said, rolling his eyes skyward. "I didn't kill little miss love-and-hugs-and-baby-animal-kisses." He paused briefly, half-heartedly trying to end his comments on the matter while they were still mostly respectable (by his standards, anyway). "She probably had it coming, though. It's always the ones who look like fucking living-saints on paper. She probably operated an underage porn business out of the basement of that 'charitable foundation' of hers. It was either that or drugs. It'll all come out in the wash. But, ringing her bell was someone else's happy moment…unfortunately. "
Hey. At least he had said it wasn't him. Saying it nicely would have been asking way too much of himself.
Haley shifted her weight nervously and mumbled something inaudible.
"What was that, sweetheart?" Dean purred, slowly sliding his foot up her calf underneath the table.
She cleared her throat and looked up, her eyes slitted in obvious disapproval.
"I knew that you didn't kill her," she said boldly, and Dean cocked an eyebrow in surprise.
"Oh, really?" he said, crossing his arms and staring her down. "And how did you know that?"
"D-doesn't matter," she stuttered, her voice quiet again. "You're still a murderer. What difference does it make who you kill? A murderer is a murderer, plain and simple."
There it was. The little act of defiance he had been baiting her for. It was too hard to resist.
In a flash, Dean was up from his chair and in her personal space, both of his hands wrapped around her neck and his mouth curled into a sneer.
Her eyes bulged in shock, and Dean leaned in even closer, pressing his lips to her ear as he tightened his grip.
"Still think it doesn't matter who I kill, my pet?" he hissed, digging his thumbs into her throat and effectively cutting off her air as she thrashed against the weight of his body, clawing at his arms in a completely futile attempt to loosen his hold.
"Hmm? I can't hear you," he continued, snaking out his tongue to lick a stripe down her jaw. "C'mon, Haley. You know I don't like it when you ignore me."
He was flush with the thrill of the moment, his heart racing and his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight as he watched her struggle in his grasp.
The more violently she struggled, the harder he squeezed, and the groan that escaped him was pure instinct, pure predator.
He wanted to be the God who stole her light, who consumed her…before he ravished her completely.
"Cat got your tongue? Is something wrong, baby?"
His voice was a low growl, devoid of anything even remotely human.
"Use your words, now. What? Out of arguments, already? Aw, look at that! You're turning blue, sweetheart. If only you could see it. So pretty. So pretty for me. Do you feel that darkness closing in?"
He could see the panic in her eyes, but he only pressed in harder, his cruelty rushing through his fingertips like a floodgate, taking on a mind of its own.
"You're dying, baby, and do you know where you're going?" He hissed, shoving a knee brutally between her thighs. "Can you guess? I'll give you a hint. There are no pearly white gates. No chorus of angels waiting for you in the fire. That's right, love. You've got a one-way ticket to Hell. With me. Forever. Tsk, tsk, Haley."
Okay, so he was maybe going a little overboard. Some distant part of his mind was alerting him to this fact, but…why the fuck not? Haley was his toy to play with, and he wouldn't ACTUALLY break her. He was just blowing off a little steam.
Right then, she went still beneath him, and he quickly released her, giving her cheek a solid slap to ensure that she would gasp in a mouthful of air, restoring her to full-consciousness level, where he needed her to be.
As she sucked in shaky lungfuls of oxygen, slouched deeply in her chair and making noises that seemed to be a mix of crying and choking, Dean casually reached for his mug of coffee, taking a long, gratifying sip while he eyed her.
"I think I made my point," he finally said once she had quieted a little, reaching down to move her right hand to the table where he wrapped her fingers around the glass of water in front of her. "Drink," he ordered, smiling a little as she immediately obeyed. "Today's going to be a big day for you, once you pull yourself together. I'm taking you out. We're going to visit my brother, and you'll be on your own feet, by my side. IF you can show me that you're going to be a good girl and do as I say. Do you think you can do that, baby?"
Haley didn't respond, still visibly wracked by what had just occurred, and Dean shrugged, turning as if to grab her shoulders.
"The trunk it is, then," he said calmly, and Haley looked up with wide eyes, shaking her head violently.
"N-no, I…I can listen," she rasped, her voice raw and barely above a whisper. "Let me show you. I'll be good, okay? P-please. I promise I'll be good. Please. P-please."
Her face was crumpled up in what looked like pain, desperation, blind-panic, and total helplessness all rolled into one, and she couldn't seem to control the little cry-breaths that were still escaping her throat, punctuating her words with shaky gasps.
Dean leaned in ever-so-slightly to check her pupils, and she recoiled violently, flinging an arm across her face defensively and choking back a sob.
Dean was suddenly…thrown off by the entire thing.
Out of nowhere, he was assaulted by some kind of a protective rush of warmth deep in his gut, and he found himself automatically reaching out to run his fingers through her hair in an attempt to comfort her.
To…comfort her?
His hand froze, aborting the gesture almost as soon as it had begun, and he cleared his throat, nearly leaping a few steps back.
Get ahold of yourself, man. Keep it together.
"First, we're going to ice that neck a bit," he suddenly said without thinking, eyeing the hand-shaped bruises that were now blossoming in deeper hues of purple than he had ever really intended. There were even places where his fingernails had cut into the skin, and the smears of red across the purple seemed to stand out much more to him than they should have.
There was that odd rush again.
And this time, with it came an inexplicable and illogical flood of anger that someone had made Haley look like that, that someone had ruined her pretty neck, had turned it into something grotesque, that someone had…that…he…had…made her feel like she wasn't precious to him, like he didn't love-
Wait…
What?
Dean shook himself vehemently out of his reverie, clenching his hands into fists and trying to regain his focus.
A sideways glance in Haley's direction told him that she was still too shaken up to have noticed his…odd behavior.
Where was this coming from?
The girl was FINE. She was GOING to be fine.
So why did he suddenly feel like he…hated himself?
No, he hated Haley. At least in that moment. She was manipulating him, the little bitch. He'd show her…
For the first time in months, Crowley's voice echoed through his mind as he recalled an incident from his early-demonhood that he had all but forgotten until that very moment.
It had been about three weeks since his human life had ended, and the two of them had been holed up in a dingy motel room for a few days while Crowley had relapsed into a massive human blood binge. He had tried to hide it from Dean, but in his inebriated state, he had left the bathroom door open, and Dean had walked in on him, empty syringe in hand and tears streaking his cheeks.
"To be a demon is a nightmare that never ends," Crowley had murmured philosophically, bracing himself against the wall, "but to be only partially a demon is so much, much worse."
Dean had rolled his eyes in annoyance, grabbing the older man's arm and trying to pull him back out into the bedroom, but Crowley had resisted, stubbornly rooting himself to the floor.
"Stop it, stop it, just-…Dean, will you just bloody listen to me for a minute?" Crowley had barked, yanking his arm free and pressing his palm to his forehead. "When you're a demon, like we are, or a monster, I presume, everything just…is. Maybe it's horrible, cold, sure…but it's also logical. Uncomplicated. Something that might seem like it matters enormously, can…matter enormously, but at the same time, you're removed from it. You can do…things, and it's okay. It's fine. You might lose every once in a while, but you can never really…lose. If something comes along and makes you feel, actually feel, that removal goes away, and you start to really understand the damage that you've done. It's hard to come back from that, Dean. The whole thing grabs hold of you, and it's just…god, it's enough to drive you completely insane. You don't know-"
"Crowley, you're lecturing me about being human again," Dean had interrupted through clenched teeth. "Of the two of us, I'm pretty sure that I'm the expert in that area. New demon, remember? Besides, do you still not get the fact that humans deal with what you're feeling right now every damn day of their lives? And do you know how we deal with it? We fucking suck it up. And you can, too."
But that hadn't been what Crowley was trying to say at all…
Either way, Dean had been thoroughly unmoved by Crowley's sudden, cathartic outburst, and after wrestling the mighty king of Hell into bed to sleep it off and then flushing the remaining blood down the toilet, he had settled in with a bottle of whiskey to watch Daddy Issues: Stripper Edition on pay-per-view.
"Feelings" could not have been further from his mind, and by the time morning had rolled around, both Dean and Crowley had been happy to pretend that the events of the previous night had not taken place.
That was the last time that Crowley had injected himself, as far as Dean knew…
Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that this particular memory had been regurgitated from his subconscious for a reason, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
It was making him feel sick in a way that every disease on earth, simultaneously, couldn't replicate, and he wanted to slice himself open, kill the earth, and make Haley pay for being so fucking weak…not necessarily in that order.
"So, yes," he suddenly spoke, realizing with a jolt that his prolonged silence was no longer being lost on Haley, who was staring up at him in utter confusion. "So, yes, we'll…no. No.We won't," he continued unevenly, his voice turning to a growl for the last few words. "Forget the ice, Haley. We've already wasted enough time on your insolence, and if you think you can play the helpless, wounded girl act on me whenever you're being punished, think again, my pet. There are consequences to provoking me, and the sooner you really learn that, the better."
She was a helpless, wounded girl, and he had provoked her, but Dean wasn't going to worry too much about those specifics. Not for the moment, anyway.
Blinking in his black eyes for good measure, he could already feel himself slipping back into the cold, hungry, animalistic, simple state of mind he had become familiar with, and he allowed his muscles to relax a bit, reassuring himself that he would get more sleep, satiate the Mark on a more regular basis, set up some very specific ground rules for Haley, and see Sammy. Soon, he would be with Sammy. "On your back, down there," he commanded, meeting Haley's gaze and gesturing to the ground at his feet. "You have three seconds or those bruises are going to feel like heaven compared to what I'll do to you, baby. Three…two…one…"
Haley fell unceremoniously to the ground, and Dean smiled wickedly, cracking his knuckles loudly in the stillness.
"Good girl," he purred, circling her like a lion moving in on its prey. "Now, are you ready to play a little game?"
